did a gig recently where a female audience member was really looking forward to hearing my work as I was the only female stand up there. Once I got on stage, I told a new story about about being from the same town as serial killer Fred West, and another where I urinated in the street wearing nothing but a Spiderman mask on.
The sheer number of would-be joke writers within its walls tells you that it's relatively easy to fire out a few one liners in the safe environment of Twitter. But arguably Twitter's cosy bosom is no place to prepare yourself for the bear-pit of live performance. If a joke falls flat on Twitter it will simply get washed away in the ceaseless stream of the timeline. No one boos. No one gets up and walks out. The long, deathly silence which must haunt the dreams of every stand-up comedian is of no concern.
People don't want to see the world for what it is; they spend their lives pretending things are otherwise. Prostitution cracks the veneer, its actuality threatens to break the artificial limits our lives already, silently, secretly, and shamefully transcend, but people want to brush such confessions into the corner, under the carpet.
With the second series of the show having sadly reached it's climax Mr. Dredge is hard at work in his grotto having already unleashed what he calls his 'bonkers audiobook for kids' and the rumour mill will have it that he's already slaving away with his trusty sidekicks preparing for round 3 of the series.
The central character in Punch is the most heinous, twisted, barbarous person I have ever tried writing. He's impervious to any shred of empathy, tact or compassion and yet I agree with (almost) everything he says.